Recently
I had the wonderful opportunity to snatch a babysitter and get out into the
night with my wife to see a concert. The band was Incubus -- a band we both
cherished when we first met. And now 20 years later, as we celebrate our 20yrs
of togetherness, so does Incubus. How fitting
They
were playing at Radio City in NYC. For those that are not from the tri-state
area or are not familiar with commuting into NYC, it’s a nightmare. And because
this is the first time we actually were using a babysitter rather than a family
member to watch the children longer than a few hours, I made the decision to
drive into the city rather than taking mass transit. Strike 1.
I
am one of those guys that refuses to listen to the band that you are going to
see. It’s just so taboo. Your gonna hear the music in an hour live which is
better than the version you are playing in your car. And don’t even get me
started with wearing the shirt of the band you are going to see. (ps.. i
made my own custom Justin Timberlake shirt that I wore the day of the concert. You can read all about it here).
So there we were stopped in traffic a mile from our home, with an hour left to
drive 8 more miles as blatantly stated on my shitty Apple Maps as I played a
podcast - yes a podcast - to fill the breaks of silence that would come between
my wife and I as she cursed me in her brain for playing a podcast and not
Incubus as I cursed the god dam traffic and my terrible decision making to
drive into the city using shitty Apple Maps -- who does that?! Strike 2
We
arrived and parked in a pre-paid spot for 20 bucks (let's remove a strike for
that phenomenal idea I had prior to leaving the home!) and made our way to find
a bar. It was very quickly I realized there are no freaking good bars by Radio
City. How is this possible! And so, my brain began to hurt as we passed by
numerous tourist traps serving overpriced cheap spirits in search of something
resembling a beer bar. (note: this is the part of the story, if you don’t know
already, where I tell you I am a huge beer snob) Nothing. We finally took up
shop at a trendy looking bar with lots of bottles shining brightly behind the
bar showcased like a child's trophy case. The beer list was long. Great, I
thought. I read through the list. Not a single fucking beer that’s palatable. I
settled for a Founders Breakfast Stout which was a beer that set the bar for
how stouts should be made some 8 years ago. Now it’s just a has been but still
very delicious I might add. My wife had a shitty pumpkin beer which tasted like
water and pumpkin spice. Bleh
After
a beer and much needed old fashion we made our way to the venue. Waited in a
little bit of a line, got in and walked up not 1, not 2, but 3 flights to our
seats. Jeez Dan you really went out all on this date. And then, just like that
the music started. I smile as I admire myself for knowing the exact timing of
when a band will really go on and laugh at those around me who have been
sitting here for over an hour as stated on their tickets to arrive. (I will
remove another strike for that)
It
happened around the 3rd song in. Perhaps it was sooner but I was not really
paying attention to it. But slowly I noticed all around me what was happening.
Cell phones up in the air. This is nothing new I say to myself. But then look
harder and realize they are all doing one thing -- recording the event.
Everyone. Like 1 out 2.5 people around me had their phones up and was
recording. I nudged my wife and did that look thing you do when you want
someone to notice something. She had no idea. She simply shrugged and continued
to smile and watch the band woo her heart away. I couldn’t let it go. Sweat
began to bead at my brow and my lower back began to get a bit moist -- eww that
word.
I can see someone doing this for
like 1 song or 2. But there were people in front of me taping the entire fucking
concert! Is the intent to watch this later in bed because you missed the
show while it was on because you were too busy recording it viewing Brandon
singing his heart out through a tiny screen rather than seeing it out of your
own eyes in front of you. Are you going to show this to guests when they come
to your home? Are you trying to shadow a Jenner kid and try to be an influencer
and YouTube star who is known as the "Concert Recorder" guy in hopes
to get paid millions of dollars in advertisement fees? Will you present this
cherished moment to family members on Thanksgiving like you would the first
time your child crawls? Mom, Dad, this is Incubus!
Its
then I realize that I am now an old man; doing that old man shit that old men
do when younger kids do shit that seems out of place. This is out of place. But
even weirder is that everyone in the crowd is my age. I feel like I am in the
Twilight Zone -- the old one not the new cooler hipper Jordan Peele version
that everyone is probably watching on their iPhones .. ARRGHH.
I started to stress and was
thirsty. So, what better thing to do than to relieve some stress by paying 12
dollars for probably a god awful beer. I give in and wait outside in a long
line. I make short conversation with a man in front of me. I think he is a man.
He says he is getting a drink for his wife. I am puzzled because I am not sure
if he is a man or not. I quickly realize its 2019 and I am in NYC and this is
completely normal now. So, my mind goes back to the beer.
"I
will have a Brooklyn Lager and a Lagunitas IPA", I say to the wonderfully
overly nice Woman serving the beer. I make some jokes about something that goes
nowhere. She smirks and moves quickly (probably to get me away from her) to get
the IPA first and pours it into a plastic cup. A plastic cup. Ughhh. Then she
grabs my Brooklyn Lager (note: lately I have been feeling a beer that actually
tastes like beer and not all that hazy lactosey overly sugary shit that is
oversaturating the markets) but before she pours it into the clear plastic cup,
I notice something bizarre happening. Something that my Mom would do. She
reaches over, grabs the ice and puts a few cubes of ice in the empty plastic
cup next to the opened beer. I stare at her, and then the cup, and then the ice
all in 1 glimpse as she begins to pour the beer into the clear plastic cup with
the few ice cubes in it.
Stop
the press Vicky Vale...
Did
she just pour my beer into a plastic cup that has ice in it??
"What
the hell are you doing" I scream. "Why are you putting ice in my
beer", I yell and start to uncontrollably shake the shit out of her
screaming in her face that this is something that peasants would do to feed
their young. "I AM NOT A PEASANT", I yell. "I AM NOT A
PEASANT!!!"
I don’t do any of that. Instead my brain is trying to unravel what just happened. And before I can say a thing, she says to me "it was a little warm, so I just put a few ice cubes in it to chill it up a bit". Chill it up a bit? My entire world froze, like the ice cubes before it got drenched with beer probably wondering why beer is being poured all over me. Everything around me moves in slow motion. She hands me the beer and moves on to the next thirsty patron. I say nothing. What just happened, I think, as I walk away with my head down in shame. You coward, I say with a scowl on my face as someone looks at me as if they just saw the devil or a crazy NYC bum talking to himself about alcohol.
I make my way back into the concert, find my seat and hand my wife's beer to her --- the one without the ice. I tell her what happens. She quickly hugs me knowing my night is ruined. I sit there with a puss in my face sipping my watered-down shitty Brooklyn Lager as I watch the concert through the numerous iPhone screens in front of me. I should have just watched this on YouTube later... sigh. Strike 37. I am such a peasant.
** Disclaimer - I had a wonderful date night with my wife and couldn't be happier to see this wonderful concert and enjoy this wonderful experience with her. ;-)
One
Comments
Post a Comment